


Portal Oneshots

by Lady_Isludis



Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:11:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Isludis/pseuds/Lady_Isludis
Summary: A collection of short stories inspired by one of my favourite games of all time. Some will be set in the continuity of my other stories (like Suddenly Wheatley and Human Condition), some will be AU, and there might even be a crossover sprinkled here and there.





	1. Earworm

There was a room in the farmhouse that never got used.

At least, Wheatley never saw Chell use it.

Its door always stayed shut, and despite his curiosity (not to mention his infuriating tendencies toward misadventure), Wheatley's hand hovered over the doorknob countless times—never actually opening it.

Maybe he thought Chell would be angry with him for snooping—she certainly didn't seem to like him being in her room whether she was there or not—or maybe he was afraid of what he might find. An earlier run-in with a headcrab in the cellar had made him wary of wandering into unfamiliar spaces—or even familiar ones with the lights off, for that matter.

Sometimes, on the way to his own room, or back from the upstairs bathroom, he'd stop dead in his tracks—near or in front of that very door. He'd later recount how he thought he'd heard a noise but wasn't sure; it was so faint that he thought he might've imagined it.

Even more peculiar, though he didn't notice at first, was the catchy, melodic tune he kept humming, despite being uncertain of its origin. It wasn't until he caught Chell whistling the exact same tune that he paused, brow furrowed. Was it a coincidence that she strung together that same sequence of musical notes? Had she overheard him?

Now, Wheatley was no GLaDOS (at least, not anymore), but there were still circumstances under which he liked to experiment—mostly by doing something and seeing if and how Chell would react. In that sense, his science was purer, truer to its essence than hers had ever been, even if neither of them—or Chell, probably—would ever liken it to real, science-y science.

One evening, while Chell was within earshot, Wheatley hummed the tune, earning a pause and a raised eyebrow from her.

"Where did you hear that?" She asked, surprised, but not in a way he could read.

"I'm not sure..." He answered honestly. "I can't get it out've my head."

Chell sucked in her bottom lip, thoughtful.

"The turrets sang that song for me when I left...."

Now it was Wheatley's turn to be surprised. "Really? They did?"

Chell nodded. "Did you hear me singing it?"

Wheatley shook his head. Chell, singing? This was news! The ex-test subject barely spoke most of the time! "You sing?"

And so, he was no closer to finding out where he'd heard that song, let alone why it was so firmly lodged in his brain. That was, until the night he found that door—the door that never opened—ajar; a soft, golden glow radiated from within.

"Chell?"

"Yes?"

Gently, he pushed the door until he could poke his head in, and found Chell—sitting on the floor next to a companion cube by lamplight. He was about to ask what the cube was doing there when he heard it: the same sound he thought he'd heard in the hallway....

The same melody he'd been humming and Chell had, apparently, been singing.

Chell looked up at him, an almost-smile on her usually neutral face, and not the slightest bit perturbed by his presence. Her expression acknowledged him as if she'd been expecting him to come in this entire time.

His must have betrayed the question he intended to vocalize, because she nodded, and he instantly knew her response. She motioned with a head tilt for him to join her, and they both sat there together, listening to the cube's encore performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made this because I'm still plugging away at Human Condition (though I was going to do a bunch of one-shots anyway, probably should've been doing that all the way along). This past year has been rough on me, but while HC has evolved into the most ambitious literary project I've ever worked on, I want so badly to see it to completion. It's nothing more or less than the answer to all my burning questions about what happened after the game ended.


	2. Drunk

Chell didn’t consider herself a big drinker.

She didn't mind red wine or sweet cocktails on special occasions, but she wouldn't seek out beer or strong-tasting spirits—wrinkling her nose at their too-bitter flavours like a child.

Once, though, she tried her hand at fruit liqueur.

The recipe had been passed along by a friend, who had recommended ageing the mixture for a couple of months. Chell filled a borrowed jar with Vodka and fruit—peaches, pears, berries—and hid it away in her cellar.

Close to Christmas, she sent Wheatley down there for a jar of pickled beets and a can of cranberry sauce. Some of the beets would be served with tonight’s dinner, while the cranberries were for the twenty-fifth in a few days.

Wheatley agreed, vocally lamenting how low the ceiling was down there, how awkward it was for him to climb up and down the cellar stairs, and that he'd have to walk all the way around the outside of Chell’s farmhouse in the cold to reach it— _all the way ‘round!_ His boots crunched through freshly fallen snow, and she could hear him ranting to himself the whole way.

Still, for the fuss he made, Chell knew he’d do it for the beets—Wheatley liked beets.

He discovered the liqueur by accident, having already secured a jar of pickled beets but still in the process of searching for some cranberries. Compared to the ones Chell normally used, this jar was huge. There had to have been three—no, four litres of liquid in there at least! Its outside was painted with decorative flowers in red, orange, and yellow, and the whole thing was covered in about two months worth of dust.

It was also stuffed full of fruit!

Wheatley had only ever known Chell to make jams with fruit (sometimes applesauce or pie-filling) and she always seemed to crush or blend it rather than use whole slices. Was she pickling these for a change? Was pickled fruit even a thing?

More importantly, would it taste salty? Tangy? Sweet?

A mischievous smile played on Wheatley’s lips. As long as he didn't drop the jar or spill any liquid on the cellar floor, Chell would never know!

Still, he’d have to be extra careful. He had a track-record for dropping and tripping over things, and Chell would probably smell this stuff on the floor the next time she came looking for produce.

Beets forgotten, Wheatley pushed some smaller jars aside, then hefted the big one into his arms. Getting the lid off was tricky—half-frozen fingers versus rusty locking mechanism while hugging the container to his body—but he succeeded, and without spilling a drop! That in itself was a victory.

So far, so good! He might just get away with this!

When opened, the jar had an unusual smell. It looked very much like the inside of a can of fruit cocktail, though. Wheatley snatched a peach slice off the very top and popped the whole thing in his mouth.

He frowned. It wasn't quite the flavour he was expecting. Sweet, definitely, but there was an extra “something” he couldn't identify. It was a different kind of sweet—one that Wheatley was sure he’d never experienced before.

He took a second look at the jar.

Once, he’d forgotten about a half-drunk glass of juice for a few days. When he went to taste it again, it was completely different—sort of sour.

Maybe, he thought, he should have another one. It would be a shame if Chell opened the jar in a month or two and found funky fruit.

He took another peach slice and slurped it, taking a moment to press it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue and really savour its juices. The extra flavour was still there, but he still wasn't sure if it was intentional—only Chell would know for sure!

Wheatley smacked his lips, debating whether he should just go upstairs and ask her, or sample just one more!

And while he was at it, he should probably try a couple of berries—and pears, even though he wasn't normally keen on pears. Did Chell like pears? If she did, she'd be mighty disappointed if she reached in and got a bad one.

Two pieces became four, became twelve, became shakily returning the jar to the metal shelf after consuming at least three whole peaches, half a pear, and ten to twenty berries—give or take.

What had he come down here for again? Turnips?

Upstairs, Chell was growing impatient.

She stomped her foot on the kitchen floor a couple of times to tell him to hurry up. What was he doing down there? Supper was almost ready!

For someone who hated the cold so much, Wheatley was certainly taking his time. On any other day, he’d have grabbed whatever he could find quickly and to hell with the rest! Unless, of course, he found those beets first.

To hell with everything that wasn’t easily accessible—or beets.

Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. At twenty, Chell let out an exasperated sigh. There was no reason for him to linger unless he was having trouble finding what she’d asked for—or he'd found something tasty to snack on. She didn’t hear him carrying on anymore, either.

Chell’s eyes narrowed.

If sound wasn’t coming out, then food must be going in.

She removed the stew pot from the stove and grabbed her jacket and boots.

She was mildly shocked when she found him on the cellar floor, thinking something might be seriously wrong and scrambling to help, but then he looked up at her, cheeks flushed and grinning like an idiot.

“What did you do to those peaches?” He slurred. “I like peaches, but those tasted different. Not bad different…I don’t think…what was I talking about?”

Chell glanced over at the liqueur jar—now missing almost an eighth of its contents. Her concern melted into a deadly glower.

The next half-hour was spent half-dragging Wheatley back into the house, which he seemed to think was entertaining in-between high-pitched giggling and chattering.

“I wasn't going to eat the pears” He hiccuped, “I don't think I should have, I don’t even like pears! Wooooow! You're pulling me all by yourself!” He started to laugh, which turned into a wheeze. “I don't know why that's funny!”

Later, Chell would be thankful that she'd taken the stew off—as she wouldn't return to the kitchen for another twenty minutes. By then, she was dumping it into the largest container she could find and stowing it in the fridge; Wheatley probably wasn't going to want any until tomorrow.

When he sobered up, Chell scolded him, but also apologized for not warning him that liqueur had alcohol in it.

He never did enjoy peaches as much after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In truth, I've never tasted Liqueur, just Vodka-Clamato. I've heard some _hilarious_ stories about how fall-down drunk you can get if you have too much of that fruit, though!


	3. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this a while back, edited it today, let's just say Chell wants to consume.

Grey eyes met sky blue.

He shrank away, insides whirling with fragile wisps that he didn't dare disturb further—but she was determined to show him she meant no harm. A small, strong hand, rough from work, reached out to touch his cheek.

He let out a quiet gasp, shocked by the contact, but her touch was firm as it guided him to look at her. Simultaneous, contradictory gentility created a tingling ripple that swept over him—no, through him—and sky blues widened in bewilderment as cool greys pulled them in. Two portals each: earth and cosmos.

The spell was cast.

She could have dropped her hand and he'd not turn away, all apprehension gone—well, not gone, but so absorbed in her charm that he couldn't if he wanted to.

Electricity washed over his skin and stimulated every last follicle of hair. She hovered over him, eyes softening, but somehow deepening, and his limbs turned to jelly. Meanwhile, her arms snaked their way around his neck, pulling them closer together.

She moved slowly, fingers hooked to the fabric of his shirt, but eventually, she pressed her lips into his. His entire body went rigid, then melted—further, if it were possible, but it must be because he just was—into her arms.

He was utterly lost to the moment—they both were—not knowing where the swirling hazy heat began and where it ended. Questions went unasked: did she know what she did to him? Did he know how he made her ache to…do what? What could she consume that would satisfy this powerful craving?

No. It wasn’t just a craving—not even a longing.

It was a need. He needed her; she needed him. They both needed each other more than either could express. Air. His and hers. They both needed air to live. She'd stolen his with her gaze, and he responded with an attempt to steal it back, in what became a back-and-forth battle for life-essence.

Everything was committed to memory, if only for a fleeting moment.

The two pulled themselves together as if they intended to merge as one. The haze deepened—intensified—washed over and into their essences until it began to spill over. Limbs became horribly entangled and lips sought to devour. Warmth radiated.

Sounds faded out—all replaced by velvety silence. The swirling heat became a string that pulled them both upward—backs arching—and held them in a suspended state of bliss. Moments passed, perhaps centuries, and the heat dispersed, allowing them to drift back to earth.

Sky blue eyes opened to cool greys, no longer apprehensive. She'd sung him a cosmic opera, and he'd joined her in a duet.


	5. Call Me Back!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started this ages ago and picked it up again because it was close to Halloween. Enjoy the chaos!

"Hello, Chell? This is Wheatley. Call me when you get this message. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Hello, Chell? This is Wheatley again. Is your phone off? Because I need you to call me back as soon as possible. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell? It's Wheatley. I need you to call me back—because it's sort of urgent. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell? It's Wheatley again. I _desperately_ need to get in contact with you and I can't do that while your phone is off. Please call me back. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Hello, Chell? It's Wheatley again. Where are you? Are you still at the party? Why aren't you answering your phone? Are you in the bathroom? Hold on… _For God's sake, mate! It's a Halloween costume! There's a Vortigaunt over there in fairy wings! Get over it!_ Where was I? Right! Please call me back when you get out of the bathroom! Okay? Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell, it's Wheatley again. Please turn your phone back on. I need to talk to you, ASAP!"

-Beep-

"Chell" It's Wheatley. I still haven't heard back from you—are you okay? I'd appreciate it if you would call me so I know you're okay. Maybe send a text? It doesn't matter. Send anything! Honestly, I would take a carrier pigeon at this point. Hold on… _a little privacy, please? Thank you!_ Seriously though, please call me. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Me again, still here, still waiting for you to call me back. I honestly don't know what to do at this point. I don't have Mel's number, or I'd ask her to tell you to turn your phone back on. Call me!"

 

-Beep-

"What's the point in even HAVING a phone if you never answer it?! Really, lady! How is anyone supposed to get in contact with you, huh? Bloody hell! What if this were an _emergency?!_ I mean, it kind of is, just not of the 'life or death' sort—but what if it were? Ugh… Listen, I'm sorry I shouted, it's been a long night! Call me back as soon as you can. Bye!"

-Beep-

"Chell, it's Wheatley again. Funny story, there was a bit of a problem with my costume—which was amazing, by the way. The costume, I mean, the costume was amazing! There was nothing even _remotely_ amazing about— _would you please STOP staring? Gah! Children! Where are the parents?_ *Ahem* Where was I? Oh, right, my costume! I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. One thing lead to another, and now I'm stuck in the hospital. Agh! I probably would have won a prize if I'd been able to make it to the party wearing this—it's a real head-turner! Absolutely worthy of the hype! There's just a small problem: I may have inadvertently 'dazzled' a few people—and there is A LOT of uncomfortable staring going on. That kid you just heard me telling off? Completely mesmerized! He hasn't blinked in like, two straight minutes! It would be impressive if it weren't creepy."

"Listen, I'll be honest, I didn't want to lay all of this on you over the phone. Anyway, call me when you get this. Sooner rather than later, preferably, my battery's getting low. Bye!"

-Beep-

"It's Wheatley again. Could you bring McDonald's?"

-Beep-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned if you want to find out what he's wearing :D


	6. Where is he?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from “Call Me Back!”

“Did he say what he was he wearing?”

 

“No. It was going to be a ‘surprise’.”

 

“You don't think he put on makeup?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Well then how do we—”

 

“I found him.”

 

“That was quick, where?”

 

“There.”

 

“Where?”

 

“Over there.”

 

“The vortigaunt-fairy?”

 

“No, a little more to the left.”

 

“I still don't see him.”

 

“He's right there!”

 

“Where?!”

 

“He's…kind of hard to miss…”

 

“I still don't…”

 

“Eleven O-clock. Sequins.”

 

“Sequins? Sequins…sequins—oh!”

 

“See him now?”

 

“I think—wait… Chell, I'm pretty sure that's a woman…”

 

“Mel, that's a wig.”

 

“No it isn—oh! You're right, oh… Oh Chell…”

 

“There you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheatley explains everything in the next episode! ;)


End file.
